13 Pixar Films Ranked Worst to Best

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A little ole’ website called IGN.com likes to release “Top Ten” lists and whatnot, and they usually are—to say the least—a bit underwhelming. More reminiscent of a gathering of pubescent junior high-ers discussing which anime chick has the biggest knockers than your average well-thought-out AV Club super-list, perhaps IGN’s lists are simply geared towards a specific audience. Which, hey, that’s cool, keep up your mediocre lists you literally put out every single day. But goddammit, I like my movies, and I wish IGN would just leave them alone. And recently, with the release of the surprisingly berated Brave, they’ve gone ahead and ranked Toy Story 3 as the greatest Pixar film.

Look, I liked Toy Story 3 as much as the next guy, but honestly: I don’t see Toy Story 3 aging very well—especially set against the classic Toy Story. It’s really too bad, because as much as we’d like to give Pixar an infinite free pass in the animation world and laud their crowning achievements, Pixar has churned out as much spoiled milk as straight butter. I mean, you’ve got two Cars movies, and that’s 15 percent of your output right there. Then there’s the impeccably shot piece of trash that’s Toy Story 2. And once you throw in the heartfelt yet ultimately average action/adventures A Bug’s Life and Finding Nemo and the glaring dilemma with Brave and the wow-really-the-most-overrated-animated-film-ever Toy Story 3…well, Pixar is batting closer to .500 than the usual lauded 1.000. But hey, at least they’re better than Dreamworks, right?

In my opinion, it’s not all right. Because I look at the Toy Story franchise and it’s definitely—in no way, shape, or fucking form—the “greatest threequel of all time” (I guess the guys at IGN have never seen The Human Condition or…hell, I don't know, The Lord of the Rings). And continuously I see hypocrites praising the hell out of some Pixar films and faulting others. The same reasons the Cars films are inane plague Toy Story 3. The more beautiful moments of The Incredibles can be found in Brave. The absolute breadth of treacherous empty landscapes and outer space in Wall-E can be found in an equally breathtaking form in Ratatouille. And all of it seems to be made OK by this IGN-backed attitude where we forgo 1 through 6 and judge Pixar films based on a scale of 7 to 10. I’m not claiming to own the end-all opinion when it comes to Pixar, but as somebody who’s not willing to jump in on a Lasseter-Docter-Stanton circle-jerk at a moment’s notice, I think it’s important to challenge the notion that Pixar is absolutely untouchable. All I can do is give my two cents and making a list just like IG-fucking-N, so here it is: the Pixar films rated worst to best.

12 and 13. Cars and Cars 2

Well no surprise here. They’re just as bad as any pile of Dreamworks’ smelliest shit, but for all the boring reasons. At least I can berate Dreamworks for their misplaced and grossly irresponsible regurgitation of pop culture tidbits that deserve no proper place in their films. Such a style is as thought-provoking as it is clever, except neither “thought-provoking” nor “clever” even enter the equation sarcastically when discussing Cars or Cars 2. They’re obviously made for one reason: to sell toy cars. And that’s about the only thing they’re good at, considering it’s by far Pixar’s most profitable film alongside Toy Story because of merchandising. Everyone knows it and acknowledges it, but we still feel content with branding Cars as, hey, at least a fun film! But finally, FINALLY critics and audiences came to tear a Pixar film apart with Cars 2…but what really was so different about these films? Their rankings on this list is as interchangeable as Cars or Cars 2 is dedicated to selling toy figurines, indicated by one-dimensional characters 3D glasses couldn’t even fix, and silly action sequences that are meant to thrill children with whizzing colors, yet never add an ounce of relevant drama or meaning to the talking cars performing the act. It’s so empty of anything beyond children-catering that it’s not even worthy of further discussion, so—

11. Toy Story 2

Watching Toy Story 2 since my first viewing as a kid was like watching Beauty and the Beast for the second time: it just does not age well. I experienced both of these revelations in similar manners, too. I watched the absolutely lovely Tangled and was blown away by its commitment to telling an honest and consequential fairy tale, and then I watched the one-note bore-fest that is Beauty and the Beast. I guess compared to The Little Mermaid it seemed like the greatest thing Disney ever produced, but it’s characterizations were ambitiously bland, making Belle’s desire to live a wondrously adventurous life her only defining characteristic. Concurrently, alongside Toy Story, Toy Story 2 seems jarringly inept. Jarring because: I used to love Toy Story 2. But I also used to love Beauty and the Beast. And while it’s not nearly as tedious as Beauty and the Beast, the sequel to Pixar’s first film leans on the side of fuzzy-wuzzy-ruzzy far too heavily, where a handful of other Buzzes completely ruins the Buzz’s humane revelation in the first film, and Woody’s realization that he requires Andy’s love seems forced when the film spends no time dissecting (or even portraying) their loving relationship (a problem that also plagues Toy Story 3). On top of it all the film feels far to constricted, with Lasseter employing the same winning chase sequences that were so emotionally invested in Woody’s plight in Toy Story, despite the fact that Toy Story 2 is confined to vents and busy airports, making the scenes whiz and blur by instead of resonating. I can still feel the magic of Jessie’s flashback—easily the high point of the film—but in the end when I look back upon Toy Story 2, I cannot ignore that the moment has disappeared, and I’m left with nothing but an ultimately flawed film.

10. A Bug’s Life

On paper it feels like A Bug’s Life should work: owning the same innate themes as Toy Story, it tussles with a character’s battle between being small and feeling small. And I do think beyond A Bug’s Life on this list, I can safely say that Pixar never made anything bad. A Bug’s Life can be quite astonishing in it’s commitment to integrating humor and drama into the purely adventurous mindset of the film (much like Finding Nemo), which also speaks volumes of its consistency—never once does A Bug’s Life deviate from its intentions for a “show-stopping” number (like Toy Story 2), and instead gives as much scope to the story and its characters as the massive landscape towering above these bugs. I guess when it comes down to it: A Bug’s Life is adept in several areas of filmmaking, but ultimately lacks the emotional punch that gives Toy Story 3 and Finding Nemo a slight edge. Hey, at least it was better than Antz.

9. Toy Story 3

Next to Up, Toy Story 3 may very well be Pixar’s funniest film. Thoroughly enjoyable is so many ways, Toy Story 3’s greatest attributes actually carry the same weight as A Bug’s Life or Finding Nemo. It shines because it’s Pixar at the top of its game. The fluidity of its transitions and dialogue and the breadth of its action sequences are traits every animated film should aspire to. It’s masterful in all the technical senses, especially in its improvement upon Toy Story 2’s inept action sequences by creating an environment that traps our main characters and comes to have its own consequential identity to the characters it cages. But Toy Story 3 benefits too strongly from its predecessors, relying too heavily on previous films to relay individual characterizations, thus making the final sequence with Andy more hokey than engaging. But even this scene, along with the rest of the film, is completely and utterly heartfelt in its pursuit to make the final message resonate. For while it doesn’t hold a candle to the arcs Woody and Buzz receive in Toy Story, Toy Story 3 is very much about the band of toys we’ve known to come and love as a whole, instead of utilizing individual stories. The result isn’t nearly as gripping as Buzz’s realization that he’s a toy with limitations in Toy Story, but there’s an influx of poignancy in Toy Story 3’s final moments that practically makes up for the filler material flooding the rest of the film. Like, er…that whole Spanish Buzz Lightyear mode. Or, really, of its unnecessary pop culture references. But even those pop culture bumps are infinitely more clever than anything Dreamworks has ever done, shedding light on exactly why people love Toy Story 3 so much, but also why it’s far more focused on having fun than recapturing the magic of Toy Story.

8. Finding Nemo

Each of the Pixar directors has his own specific talents, and for Andrew Stanton it is landscapes. While it doesn’t quite own the same awe-inducing beauty of Wall-E, the colorful, bustling ocean in Finding Nemo owns more personality than any setting to come from the Pixar franchise. And much like A Bug’s Life, there’s never an immediacy in capturing the suffocating breadth of the ocean and its contents, but instead a basking of its finer elements and the colorful characters swimming throughout it. And the tale between Nemo and his father is masterfully timed and executed, slowly bringing our two heroes closer together and learning all about them along the way. But this is also why Finding Nemo falters in comparison to, say, Brave, because there’s no sense of Marlin or Nemo as individuals before the split. They’re reunion is heartwarming in the broadest sense (since you’d have to be heartless to not feel anything), but it lacks the proper construction that made Merida’s mother’s battle with the bear so magnetic and enthralling. It’s a big flaw that seems minor in retrospect, since the reason we love Finding Nemo is its incredibly vast array of quirky outside characters, who all hold more relevance to the story than the sub-characters of Toy Story 3, where they’re solely utilized as goofballs. Finding Nemo gets just as dark as A Bug’s Life or Toy Story 3—a clear-cut reason Pixar stands above all animation studios—but even its darker moments feel inoffensive. Light brushstrokes of sweet and ominous everywhere, making for a balanced film that captures the best and most mundane extremities of Pixar.

7. Brave

It’s telling when the biggest dilemma holding Brave back is really just a minor hiccup. It stems from the fact that Merida’s mother turns into a bear, upending the classic “mother bear” of fairy tales that’s as jolting in its contrast as it is detrimental to Merida’s psyche. For so long Merida’s mother simply “won’t listen,” but she only truly learns to understand her mother when they just stop talking. No words need to be spoken to capture how desperately Merida wishes her mother to understand her, nor for Merida to finally understand how much her mother loves her, culminating in a fight between Mother Bear and foe that captures how desperately they each strive to hold each other once again. And then…her three brothers had to transform into baby bears. Brave has received comparisons to Dreamworks for all the stupidest reasons you can imagine, but this one really becomes telling of the pressure to make films cute and funny for children, yet still hang onto that adult demographic. For while kids might love these three cute little cuddly bears, I see a funny diversion that’s more than just distracting—it outright interferes with Brave’s most integral motif in changing Merida's mother into a bear, dampening it significantly as the naked boys run into their family’s arms. But even this glaring flaw doesn’t change the fact that Brave marks a welcome departure for Pixar films, in both its astute attention in building the relationship between the two main characters and finally finally finally employing a female protagonist. Did you read that people are up in arms that "Merida was a lesbian!!!!"???? Golly, people are just getting dumber each and every day, aren’t they?

6. Toy Story

Despite coming in at #6 on this list, Toy Story is and will forever remain Pixar’s most significant and important film. Hell, it might be animation’s most important film. And not solely because it broke strides in the CGI department, but because it represented the next step for animation—thematically and emotionally. For so long we were amazed by the sheer magic and fairy-tale inspired scope of Disney films, which made Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Pinocchio untouchable spectacles of beauty in the most innocent sense. But borrowing from the greatest adventure films of all time, Toy Story was finally an animated movie that could enthrall viewers with its action and still allow it to represent its characters. Woody and Buzz’s flight through the air towards the moving truck just simply wouldn’t hold the proper astonishment without the rich characterizations and emotional investment, and Toy Story delivers from start to finish. It’s miles ahead of both its sequels in terms of capturing how unnerving it is to realize the limits of your capabilities, and Buzz’s realization that he’s simply a toy offsets such a flight, and also recompenses Woody’s continual castigation of Buzz’s endearing ambition. The look on Woody’s face when he finally learns to “believe” in Buzz is beautiful, and it’s also a product of pure discipline on Pixar’s part in its debut film.

5. The Incredibles

Perhaps the defense of family resonates so much more in The Incredibles than in Brave is because Brad Bird has become so adept in weaving characters’ troubles into his film's shtick. I believe this is what separates these next five Pixar films from the rest of the films on Pixar’s filmography. It also represents why people have been so willing to give Pixar free passes: it’s easy to bypass the simple fact that the aforementioned films abandon the basic defining elements of adventure films and opted for a healthy dose of childlike “magic and wonder” instead. That's all fine and dandy, but watching The Incredibles is like watching a different animation studio altogether, with Bird balancing humor and drama, adventure and dialogue, laying the groundwork all the while. The masterful stroll through each of these family members’ lives is Magnolia-esque, and each character owns a very succinct set of problems that will come to later hold resonance when the family must band together and defend one another. Mr. Incredible’s alienation from society is far more dark than the animation allows it to be on the surface, and the touches on spousal suspicion of adultery and striving to fit in at school interweave throughout, all the while exemplifying the limits of each of these characters’ superpowers. The only element holding this film back is its dragged final act, but the pure spectacle of colors, explosions, and a family working together is enough to excuse it all.

4. Wall-E

Before 2007, I wouldn't have dared mention any animated film in the same breath as 2001: A Space Odyssey. Not because I believe it to be the greatest film ever made, but because no animated film has utilized its atmosphere to advance a sense of desolateness or alienation so adeptly. Strangely enough, this similar sense of desertion isn't touched upon in outer space during Wall-E, but instead on the endlessly trash-ridden planet Earth that's occupied by a lone robot learning to love all on his own. Such a sense of desolation is then jolted away when EVE enters the equation—an exploration that contrasts the central motif of the opening scene and brings it to life by traveling through the truly empty realm of outer space, which is a touching accomplishment 2001 can't even lay claim to. For this is a children's film after all, which makes Wall-E all the more impressive in its disciplined pursuits, choosing mood and atmosphere over traditional relationships by simply eliminating characters capable of speech, allowing the viewer to fully experience the loving relationship at hand without any bit of spoon feeding. Wall-E suffers from a misguided venture into politics in its second half, but this elongated foray only makes a tiny dent in the duo of Wall-E and EVE, as seen during what may very well be Pixar's most moving scene: as the spaceship's captain listens to the definition of "dancing," we witness Wall-E and EVE performing a dance of their own as they twirl around one another in space. It's a moment that fully captures the loving relationship between the two, and also highlights why Wall-E's unique style and execution stands miles above most films with the Pixar stamp.

3. Monsters, Inc.

A film many (including IGN) have coerced into the backend of Pixar’s résumé, Monsters, Inc. still remains the only Pixar film to successfully integrate a member of its core target audience into its story. Children are integral to the Pixar viewing experience as adults, and Boo’s muted performance isn’t simply cute and funny, but instead wholly captures how innately fear is connected to childhood. Sulley, who comes to love and care for the girl, breaks such a bond by finally scaring Boo and making her cry—a striking moment of self-realization for Sulley and an incredibly mature way of capturing fear inside a child’s heart. Their eventual reunion marks a gripping change for Sulley and forms a direct attachment for children in the audience, making for a poignant and culminating moment that works wonderfully because it’s integrated into the story so subtly—a trait I believe has held many Pixar films back. In addition, the confined universe of these monsters is weaving and completely unique. The doors that lead to children’s bedrooms float about the factory where scares are produced, also recalling the classic horror film agenda to induce screams for profit, but instead attaching such a goal to children. With the environment playing into director Pete Docter’s most heartfelt intentions, I see a film that isn’t the bane of Pixar, but instead a film John Lasseter should strive to recreate.

2. Ratatouille

This is the point in Pixar's work where I'd even begin to consider uttering the words "legendary" or "classic." Even the heartfelt project of Monsters, Inc. dipped into blatant cuteness (despite how endearing the execution was), but Ratatouille simply feels real. Brad Bird's tracking shots through the kitchens of Paris, France puts Toy Story 2 to absolute waste, and also holds an aura of bravado that boasts far too much confidence and disciplined execution to solely be classified as a "children's movie." All classic sentiments of Pixar's (or any Disney animated film) to singularly focus on and develop a core relationship is temporarily abandoned to capture Remy's ardor for cooking, which in turn advances and enhances his character in ways no Pixar film has been able to do. This romantic centerpiece becomes the backdrop of what will continue to be an exploration of such a passion, and all the while Bird interweaves comedy and character dynamics with the coveted "Lubitsch touch" that allows the characters to not be caricatures of the central goal (I'm looking at you Cars), but instead breathing individuals full hopes, regrets, and an indignation to live life to the fullest.

1. Up

It needs to be duly noted how much better Up is than Ratatouille, since Pete Docter's second Pixar film has not only proved to outdo anything else the studio has produced, but is also an all-time great film that owns enough adventure, poignancy, and ambition to stand against any non-animated film. From the flashing newspaper images of Citizen Kane, to the loving relationship between father and son that recalls Paper Moon, to the adept sense of imagery that matches any Howard Hawks venture, Up is an anomaly for animation in its pursuit of a classic narrative that's seemingly foreign to its predecessors. As Carl accidentally causes injury to a nearby worker, we see him running back into his home, escaping to a place of confinement that he associates with his deceased wife. Releasing such a restrictive presence into the daytime air begins Carl's journey towards reconciling his lost connection with his wife, which is advanced by learning to love the son he never had, Russell. The process is enhanced by Docter's sense of progression, incorporating hilarious characters (the talking dog), the unexpected presence of a villain that upends Carl and his wife’s shared passion, and the slow and inevitable popping of the balloons keeping Carl's home (and his only physical connection to his wife) afloat. And as Carl throws away his memorabilia to keep his home in the air, we see him letting go of the past and embracing the moment, fulfilling a child's wish to have an attentive parent and fulfilling his own wish to love once again. It's not only the defining moment of the film, but a defining moment for Pixar and the sheer beauty animation is truly capable of.